If you were... if you were me, wouldn't you do the same thing for your children?

It's Father's Day here in Los Angeles even though it's 10:40pm. Still counts! Sit back down and wait till the bell sounds, goddammit! Anyway, I just wanted to stop and reflect on my father and let him know (I'm told he's an avid fan of this blog) that I love him, respect him, and want him to have a happy Father's Day in what ever third world shit hole he happens to be in at this time. Ha! Just kidding, Pops, you know I'd be right there with you if only someone would pay me a duffel bag full of Euros to go.

Funny story about my dad: When I first was introduced to guns and hunting and shooting and everything else cool about being a black redneck, my dad had the best lesson I've ever seen. I can't really remember how old I was but I do remember that I still had a chin and a well defined jawline and my stomach didn't hang over my belt. It was actually rather concave as opposed to the "bulbous" shape it now possesses but I digress. I also remember it being very hot so we were probably in the Angeles Crest in the summer. My father took a .12 gauge Mossberg (his preferred killin' stick) and loaded it with a deer slug which is a rather large hunk of lead roughly the same size as a .12 gauge. Think bigger than you'd really want anything to be especially when said item is approaching any part of you at around 1,300fps. He then proceeded to fire this deer slug into a large engine block and out the other side thus scaring the shit out of me and leading me to believe that what is best in life is not the lamentations of their women but not getting shot. Ever. I've since found myself on the wrong end of several different projectile weapons and the lesson has been reinforced. Once, Moose shot me in the chest in what had, up to that exact moment, been a perfect Norman Rockwell moment of fathers and sons happily chasing pheasant around in the hinterlands of North America. Good thing I was far away and Moose tends to aim low.

Back to the original point: Pops does lessons well. Straight to the point, no bullshit but still flashy and interesting. So today I say Happy Fathers Day, Pops! Let's chase down the cow what fucked you up and give him a taste of his own medicine! Or, more realistically, lets go to South Dakota and git some phez!

Post Script: It was once pointed out to me that the above story may have been more myth than reality but I stand by it nonetheless. Even if it never happened I'm still a good marksman and have never shot anything I didn't mean to hit and then later skin, gut, grill, and eat. Thanks again, Pops. And thanks to all the other Pops before you.